


Easy

by MilenaDaniels



Series: The Places We Belong [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Monty Green, Hurt Nathan Miller, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maya Lives, Medical Trauma, Monty Green-centric, POV Monty Green, Post-Mount Weather, Pre-Relationship, Protective Nathan Miller, Season/Series 02, Sharing a Bed, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilenaDaniels/pseuds/MilenaDaniels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days after their rescue from Mount Weather aren't easy for Monty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting now because I expect all of this will be jossed with the final two eps (please forgive and point out any typos!). 
> 
> Apparently the first works I write for any new fandom have to be of the hurt-hurt-hurt/comfort variety so...enjoy if you're into that kind of that! I'm currently editing the other chapters, I hope to have them up by tomorrow and Wednesday. *fingers crossed*

The days after Mount Weather were difficult.

The rescue was difficult; they lost even more of their meager numbers before Clarke and the Grounders got them out and to a safe distance.

The trek to Alpha station was difficult; emerging from the mountain had been like taking those first steps out of the drop ship all those weeks ago. Forgetting the feeling of fresh air on your skin, the feel of immensity in the sky above you came easy for kids who’d spent their lives inside metal walls. Forgetting what lay out in the dark forests surrounding them, or that the people who now had to trust were the same who’d killed your friends a very short time ago - that was harder. More so when they learned what had happened to Finn.

But hardest still was their homecoming at Alpha, or Camp Jaha as they were calling it - unironically. Monty and the others had been banished from the Ark one-hundred-and-two delinquents strong. Less than forty of them walked through the gates of Camp Jaha and they were greeted like heroes.

For a moment, it felt good, really good. They’d lost so much, been so close to death so many times, suffered through living in hell for these people. It felt good to at least be acknowledged for it. And then the movements of some of those cheering just stopped, as if their arms had seized in an instant; their eyes scanned over the small crowd over and over until finally they realized that the child they’d been expecting to come home wasn’t there. It might actually have been easier in the reverse; to see so many of hopeful kids buzzing excitedly and then…stop, because the people they’d expected to be waiting for them at this grizzly finish line weren’t there. The hundred-and-two might have been crushed, might have fallen from hope to despair from heights that could never be climbed again, but they had become the less-than-forty, and desolation was a familiar ache now.

But Monty was an optimist by nature - a pragmatist, sure, but an optimist - and when his Jasper-crutch had jumped jarringly under his shoulder and yelled “Dad!” excitedly, he had really believed in happy endings.

Jasper’s parents, tears streaming over their smiling cheeks had shoved people aside carelessly to get to them faster, and Monty had been subject to the best hug he’d had since being incarcerated. These people were his second parents, the people who took care of him when his parents were busy with work or off on date nights. And when they finally released him from their arms and properly looked at him, their smiles became tight and strained, and Monty understood with a heavy kind of detachment that he’d be going home with them tonight. That they were taking it upon themselves to look after him now like they must have promised his parents they would, if the time ever came. And he couldn’t do anything but comply when they guided him away from the crowds.

If his body hadn’t hurt so much, if his head hadn’t been aching with a deep throb, Monty might have been able to convince himself that it was just a regular sleepover at the Jordans’. But he couldn’t find a position on the thin cot that didn’t press into his marrow extraction wounds and fresh cuts and bruises. And sleepovers on the Ark had never involved tents. Pillow and blanket forts, yes, but not tents. And they definitely hadn’t included Maya and her father, who’d left Mount Weather with a number of other citizens who’d helped hide the last of them. They’d be undergoing bone marrow transplant tomorrow, with Maya and her father using Jasper’s donations, and the others depending on the charity of volunteers. Harper and Monty wouldn’t be among them, and Monty tried to convince himself he didn’t feel guilty about it.

He was lying to himself about a lot of things lately. The latest being that it was the whooshing sounds from Maya and her father’s anti-contamination suits that were keeping him awake. That they were what drove him to roll gingerly off his cot, and tiptoe across the cold, crowded tent into the fresh night air.

He didn’t know Camp Jaha’s layout, and he didn’t have a destination in mind, so he just walked, following the electrified fences from enough of a distance that the guardsmen wouldn’t bother him. He didn’t feel like seeing anyone, didn’t feel like talking or explaining himself. He just needed to be alone for a while, to process…everything.

In the end, he needn’t have worried about being disturbed too much; he had done a full pass around the towering remains of Alpha station before he came across anyone he recognized.

“Nice night out,” a familiar voice called out. Miller was sitting on a crate, leaned up against the exterior of Alpha, legs drawn up lazily. He had sounded sarcastic, for no apparent reason, and it made Monty grin and look up at the clear night sky.

“Like any on the Ark,” Monty replied. “Like any day on the Ark, really.”

“True enough,” Miller drawled, like he’d never really cared about the starry sky to begin with.

It felt like the end of a regular exchange, the polite small-talk had been successfully completed and he should be moving on with his walk. But he didn’t really feel like wandering anymore.

“How are you?” he asked instead.

Miller shrugged. His the corner of his lower lip was puffy where it had been split and the bridge of his nose still had a line of blood across it where a cut was healing, but otherwise he seemed well enough, considering.

“You?” Miller asked, eyes flitting slowly across Monty’s body. Suddenly, he could remember part of that last fight against the Mountain Men, when he’d taken a particularly hard blow under his left shoulder blade that knocked him to the ground. He’d never seen what hit him, but when he’d scrambled to turn around, out of breath and certain that the next hit would kill him, Miller’s faded and bloodied shirt had been the first thing he processed, not half a foot away, the guy wearing it standing between him and danger. Unfortunately, Miller had only managed two or three hits with his butcher knife before he’d been taken down, and Monty had been lost to body blows again until Clarke arrived with the cavalry just minutes later.

“You look like you should be in Medical,” Miller added.

“Looks worse than it is,” he replied, trying to grin roguishly but having to stop when pain flared across his left cheekbone. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

Miller nodded and again Monty felt like he really should be moving on, continuing his walk, but he was rooted in place. This spot was secluded, next to nothing but extraneous wreckage, sheltered by out-facing edges of the station. It was peaceful. Just the quiet night, and Miller on a crate. And when Miller sat up slightly and shuffled himself to the side to make room for him, Monty found himself sitting down without really thinking about it.

For long moments, they sat quietly, staring out at the nothingness of scrap metal and the forest beyond. Miller’s hands busied themselves shredding a small pile of grass, and Monty found he was tired enough to find the sight fascinating.

“It’s weird, right?” Monty heard himself say, his voice hushed, without a clue as to where he was going with that thought.

“Being back with…?” Miller asked, throwing his hand out towards the populated areas of camp.

That worked. “Yeah.”

Miller took a deep breath and let it out with widened eyes and pursed lips that confirmed that yes, it was weird.

“I didn’t see you when - I just kind of left… Did you - your dad…”

“Yeah,” Miller said shortly, though Monty thought he heard a hint of hidden joy hidden in the word. “He’s here.”

And just like when Jasper had yelled for his dad, Monty felt the embers of his belief in happy endings grow warm again.

“You?” Miller asked.

Monty took a moment, not ready to let go of the minuscule glow of hope just yet, and Miller took that as his answer.

“I’m sorry.”

Monty didn’t look at him, but he could picture the softness of his gaze, the way it had been after they’d stolen the map from Dante’s office. Unexpected, and amazing because of it. And when Miller shifted again on the crate, this time to move just slightly closer so that Monty could feel the warmth of his arm against him, he felt better. Not by much, but enough to be thankful.

“The rest of the Ark is spread out over miles, we don’t know who else made it yet,” he said, as the chill under his skin slowly receded. “They wouldn’t have been on Alpha station so not being here doesn’t mean they aren’t _here_ , you know?”

“Yeah.”

Monty nodded to himself and settled back against Alpha’s hull, and it was silent again for a time. When all the bits of grass had been shredded and released into the air like confetti, Miller clasped his hands together and used them to trap knees, seemingly content to sit quietly all night.

“So, how come you’re out here enjoying the nice night?” Monty finally asked.

Miller shrugged. “It’s like you said.”

When Monty looked confused, Miller grinned with a shadow of nonchalance and said, “It’s weird.”

He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, and Monty didn’t press. But he did let himself lean just ever so slightly towards Miller, hoping it would help. When the edge of Miller’s lips quirked up momentarily, he thought it did.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, things were difficult again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently "editing" for me means "adding 2k at a time", which means this chapter is longer than I originally had it, but hopefully also better! Not for Monty though. Ha, no. Poor kid. 
> 
> I also went back and cleaned up typos and such in Chapter 1, sorry you had to read through that yesterday. And apologies for any left in here tonight. I have a short window during which I can work on fic at night and my brain power plummets sharply towards, well, now.

The next day, things were difficult again. 

Monty had left Miller at the crate when he’d started nodding off, worried he’d fall asleep unexpectedly and tip over like an ass. Miller had seemed more amused than bothered, but he hadn’t stopped him. Monty had crawled back into his cold cot and gotten a few hours of rest in the early morning. When he woke up, the others were gone and he felt guilty for being relieved. On the downside, while he didn’t feel nearly as heavy in his chest as he had the day before, his body did ache a lot worse, to the point where he had to hold back tears when he tried to lever his stiff limbs out of the cot. In the end, he just lay there until Jasper returned from breakfast and was suddenly hovering over him. Wordlessly, he threaded his arms under Monty’s shoulders and guided him up. Monty couldn’t help his groan of pain, or the tear that did finally manage to eek out, but Jasper was his best friend, his brother, and he knew a hug went a much longer way than words could, especially an extra gentle one for fear of causing any more pain. 

“I think you’re coming to Medical with us today,” Jasper said. 

And having no real argument to the contrary, Monty could only reply, “I think you’re right.”

* * *

They walked in as a group - Jasper, Maya, and her dad destined for surgery, Jasper’s parents to see them off, and Monty to be looked over for nothing more than bruises and scrapes. He knew nothing was wrong with him, he just _hurt_ and short of painkillers that would be in already short supply, there was nothing to be done but wait for it to pass. But still he let himself be led to Medical, walking past the people from Mount Weather and the bone marrow volunteers from among the less-than-forty and their grateful families. Some of them recognized him and smile or waved in acknowledgement, and Monty smiled back with genuine goodwill, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets to keep them from idly pressing on his drill wounds, as if his hands could even protect him. 

The donors and recipients would be in Medical for at least a week for recovery and observation, a far cry from the three hours in a cage he’d gotten between procedures (and he’d only had that because Dr. Singh had insisted on going back and forth between him and Harper, to prolong them). 

He was grateful it was different for his friends, how could he not be? But he couldn’t help the tiny speck of ugliness that roiled low in his gut; a speck of a reminder that life was unfair and he just had to deal with it. 

Maya and her father were immediately escorted to the airlocked section (after one last hug to Jasper, of course) so that their oxygen tanks could be redistributed to the others who had to wait for their procedures, but Jasper’s parents lingered with the Mountain Men. They felt the need to thank each of them for saving and protecting their “boys”, and hearing the words out loud, even knowing they were spoken with nothing more than love, felt like balloon of relief quickly growing in his chest, making him lighter for a brief moment, before being pierced and destroyed a second later. He couldn't explain it, he just knew he loved and hated the sentiment simultaneously and with equal passion. In the end, because it usually got him through the bad times, he focused on his best friend.

“You remember the first day we got here,” he said, standing guard at the screen behind which Jasper was changing into a medical robe, “after Octavia almost got eaten by the thing in the river, and I told you it seemed like the way to get girls to like you was to save their lives? I didn’t actually mean for you to turn that into your standard courting practice.”

“Shut up,” Jasper said, coming out from behind the screen with a bashful grin. Too quickly though, he grew serious, the way he’d started to lately, and said, “They saved us first.”

Monty nodded. 

“I guess fair’s fair.”

“Plus, it can’t hurt my chances right?” Jasper said, winking, despite them both knowing Maya would be sticking around even without the marrow, as long as the oxygen tanks were in good supply. If they had to, she and Jasper would make it work.

“Trust me, it’s not your chances it’ll hurt.” The words left him before he could take them back, more angry than he’d ever meant them to sound. 

“Hey,” Jasper said, laying a hand on his arm, his face concerned and resolute, “you’re gonna take it easy this week, right? Don’t go out thrill-seeking while I’m laid up in here.”

“Right, because that’s my style,” Monty replied sarcastically.

“You _are_ a known delinquent,” Jasper pointed out cheekily. “But more important than your health is the fact that I’m gonna be laid up here all week, and Maya’s going to be in the airlock until they’re sure the marrow takes, so it’s going to be up to you to be available and come here every day to entertain me.”

“You mean wait on you hand and foot? Forget it,” Monty answered with an incredulous laugh.

“I’m saving lives here, doesn’t that call for quality service?” 

“You know, the last time you started thinking like that, you turned into a total asshat,” Monty reminded him, unimpressed.

Jasper’s nose scrunched up in a grimace. “Oh, yeah, I did. I said sorry for that, right?”

“Probably,” Monty said honestly. They’d had hundreds of petty (and less petty) fights over the course of their friendship, his general test was that if they appeared to be good now, the asshole of the moment had likely apologized.

“Okay, well if you’re not going to feed my ego this time, I think the least you could do is feed my soul,” Jasper suggested, his eyebrows waggling for reasons incomprehensible to Monty.

“What?”

“Whet my whistle?”

“Are you meaning for everything you’re sounding to sound sexual because…” 

“Oh my god, Monty, alcohol!” Jasper cried as loud as he dared with Ark staff in proximity.

“Ooh,” he laughed, his ribs twinging at the movement but faintly enough that he could choose to ignore it. “Forgotten already? Stills are illegal per Ark regulations.”

“Forgotten already? You're a delinquent.”

Point made.

“Might be doable,” he murmured, tapping a finger to his chin as he mulled over the logistics.

“Knew I could count on you,” Jasper said, clasping his shoulder. Normally, he would have dropped his hand again, but this time his finger squeezed gently instead. “You gonna be okay without me at your side for a whole week?”

Monty gave him his best unimpressed bitchface, but secretly he appreciated the thought.

“I’ll be fine. You go be a live cadaver and I’ll work on getting you properly hammered in case you make it out of surgery with your liver still inside you instead of on the black market.”

“You’re the best,” Jasper said, pulling him in for a hug. “Morbid, and not at all helping with pre-surgery jitters, but the best anyway.”

“You’ll be fine,” Monty said against his shoulder. He mostly believed it, too.

Then Jasper’s parents were back and it was their turn for hugs; theirs were much longer than they would have been in normal circumstances - it was hard to get their son back and have to watch him walk into to a painful medical procedure less than 12 hours later.  Monty was fine until Jasper’s mom let her son go, with tears in her eyes, only to ruffle his hair just to be annoying and kiss his forehead. Jasper’s face scrunched up and he tried to duck out of her grip lest anyone see him being babied by his mother, and Monty had to turn on his heels and make his escape.

He had an appointment, they'd understand.

* * *

Monty knew he was the kind of person others found it hard to get a read on until they knew him better. When he was happy or excited, he was effusive, especially with people he trusted, and demonstrative personalities were expected to always be demonstrative. But when he was pissed, when he was tired, when he hurt or distrustful he tended to look like he’d shut down completely. His face went blank, his eyes became shuttered and dispassionate. It threw people off, or used to back when he rarely had reasons to shut down and people only ever knew him for his bubblier side. He didn't _actually_ shut down. He still felt every emotion keenly, he didn't tuck them away behind a wall to deal with it later. He _felt_. He just didn't let it show as much. Not around people he wouldn't lay down his life for.  And it was something he’d always appreciated about himself before, because he thought it gave him an edge of mystery. The unpredictability of a quiet extrovert was edgy.

But in Medical, it was also the only thing that kept him from lashing out at the doctor giving him a physical. As he breathed in deeply (as deeply as he could anyway) on command, he wondered  if Clarke and Bellamy had had to go through this after the battle. If they'd had to sit there and be moved around, and talked to like a frightened child in need of coddling. If they’d had to bite their tongue to keep from asking where this concern was months ago. Or asking if they’d been outraged when the hundred of them had been hurtled out of their home and abandoned on this god forsaken planet. Or asking if they thought they could gentle-talk someone into forgetting they’d seen their best friend get speared through the chest on day 1 and that somehow things had only gotten worse from then on. 

There was nothing wrong with him, which he’d already known. And to their credit, they had offered him painkillers, which he’d refused as he’d been expected to. But the offer was appreciated nonetheless.

Stepping out from the Medical tent hurt, weary, and heart-sick, Monty let his feet lead him to where he wanted to be. But when he got to that secluded spot he’d found last night, Harper was on the crate next to Miller. Her skin was more red, blue, and black than it’s former pale white, and beneath her tattered clothes, Monty knew there would be round scabs corresponding to his own. They had formed an unspoken bond in those cages, Harper and Monty had. One he thought it was unlikely he’d ever form with anyone else, one that made him fairly certain that he would fight to his very death to keep Harper from ever being hurt like that again, even before he'd fight for himself. 

But regardless of their bond, she was sitting on his crate, in his spot, and she wasn’t what he’d come here for. So he offered them a smile, and kept walking as though that had always been his plan.

* * *

Rounding the outer edge of Alpha, Monty spotted Clarke and Bellamy huddled next to each other around a fire, heads bent together to discuss something intently, as they did. Their backs were to him and he wasn’t likely to be spotted, but he still ran for the first cover he could manage - inside Alpha. He wasn’t avoiding them. They had saved his life and he didn’t think the amount of gratitude and love he felt for them would ever be in danger of fading. But where Clarke and Bellamy went, hardship and conflict followed. They were leaders, the next courses of action fell to them, the big decisions were on their shoulders, and while Monty thrived as their and the group’s support, he needed to not be part of anything bigger than himself right now. 

Luckily for him, as he glued himself to the interior wall of the empty corridor, angry, sniping, _familiar_ voices reached his ears and made him almost laugh with unexpected relief. He followed the voices, letting his quiet laughter bubble out when he heard the distinctive sounds of a wrench being thrown across the room.

“That almost got me in the face,” he could hear Wick yell.

“Should have let it hit. It could only improve things,” Raven retorted.

“Oh as if, bolt-head -“

“ _Bolt-head_?” Raven returned, affronted. Now that Monty had edged his way to the outside of the open door, he could see her eyes open wide and her brow furrowed as if she was mentally computing how it was possible Wick could be so lame.

“-you like this face.”

“ _If_ I do, it’s entirely down to exposure therapy. You’ve got such a fat head it’s impossible to turn around and not have all of that,” she gestured rudely at his face,”sticking where it doesn’t belong.”

“How luck you are,” Wick sighed wistfully.

“Ugh,” Raven groaned.

Monty realized waiting for a pause in the argument would be fruitless and knocked on the door frame.

“You guys busy?” 

“Monty!” Wick cried out happily, already rounding the desk with arms outstretched and demanding a hug that Monty was all too happy to concede to. “My man.” 

Wick was technically an adult but he was also the guy who had bought Monty’s “supplemental produce” on Farm station, helped him and Jasper improve their processing and distillation techniques, and happened to be the guy who realized Monty had the potential to become an engineer and recommended him to Sinclair for early training. When he thought about it (and he didn’t like to), it was because of Wick that Monty had been able to survive on Earth at all and help the group as he had. 

“Oh my god, you’re back. I mean we knew everyone was back from the mountain but I didn’t see you by the time I got out there.” Wick said when he finally released him.

“Not everyone is. But I’m back,” Monty agreed. “Hey, Raven.”

“Hey yourself,” she said before coming in for a hug herself. She had a pronounced limp, and a brace around one leg, but she seemed to tense up when he noticed so he didn’t say anything. And when she squeezed slightly too hard around the drill point just under his shoulder joint and he jerked back instinctively, she didn’t mention that either. 

“What are you guys up to?” Monty asked. He tried not to worry too much when a slight air of tension seemed to settle around his friends, but Wick was quick to smile excitedly and rush back to his work station, which was littered with what looked like radio parts and rudimentary scanning equipment.

“Now that Mount Weather’s transmissions are down, we’ve been working on finding and contacting the other stations that made it to down here.”

“We don’t know which those are yet,” Raven interjected gently. 

Monty nodded firmly. “Can I help?”

“Hellz yeah,” Wick said with a mischievous grin that Raven mirrored, until he continued. “About time I got to work with someone who could think outside the box.”

Her grin faded instantly into a death stare.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m not kidding, it takes a little more creativity than-

“He-li-um,” she said, elongating all three syllables.

“Oh please, I _gave_ you that one.”

“Excuse you? You were being an immature brat.”

“All in an effort to gently guide you towards the solution.”

“You are so full of shit.”

And so the afternoon went, with Monty being brought up on their projects by way of heated anecdotes neither of his lab mates could agree on. And while the smile on his own face was nowhere near blinding, it didn’t have cause to fade for hours.

* * *

“Mecha can’t do better than the cast-offs of the cast-offs?” Miller asked, watching Monty eye the heaps of scrap metal at their spot.

When he’d passed by to see if he could find anything useful, Harper hadn’t been there, but neither had Miller, and Monty had suddenly wished he’d stayed earlier instead of walking away. But barely a half hour into his entirely legitimate examination of the bits and pieces, he’d heard shuffling feet walk slowly towards him and he breathed just a little easier.

“Word certainly gets around fast,” Monty replied.

“Bellamy and Clarke were gonna go see you about working with Raven at some point, you just beat them to it.”

He felt slightly bad that he’d…circumvented them earlier now.

“So what are we looking for?” 

It was lame and he knew it but Miller's use of “we” had Monty smiling.

“We are looking for parts for a still.”

“A what now?” Miller asked, his tone slightly edged.

“A still, like the one I made at the drop ship. Remember? Unity Juice? That was Jasper’s horrible name by the way.” Realizing what he’d just said, Monty straightened from where he was digging through the scrap heap. “Oh, I wonder if it’s still there, at the drop ship. I could salvage a few things from it if it survived the attack. It would be easier than starting one from nothing.”

“No, wait. Take a giant step back for me.” Miller said, holding his hands up and looking pissed. “Your family is _out there_ somewhere, and instead of letting you work your magic in Mecha, they’re sending you out for booze? What the hell?”

“It’s not for them. I mean, they definitely weren’t against the idea but-“

“Yeah, I’m not exactly against it either, except when it means keeping you from doing what you really want to be doing and let’s be honest, it’s not this. You can’t lose hope, Monty, they are out there and you’re going to find them.”

He’d been telling himself that since yesterday, of course, and Wick and Raven had firmly reassured him of the same, but somehow, hearing it come from Miller, whose default point of view was pessimistic with a healthy dash of cynicism, it felt so much more real.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice bordering enough on wondrous that Miller looked almost startled. Monty cleared his throat and smiled. “Exactly. I need to find them. I need to be out there when they go looking. They’re going to send teams of guardsmen out when we get a good fix on possible locations, and they’re going to need either a Grounder to lead them, or one of _us_. And given that this truce of Clarke's seems pretty damn shaky at best, my money is on one of us. But they’re not going to let me go if they think I should be somewhere else.”

Miller seemed to understand then. Life on the Ark had always been about assigning resources based on need, and when Wick and Raven told him earlier that only a very small handful of engineers and mechanics had survived this far, Monty knew he’d be consigned to Mecha for the foreseeable future. They couldn't afford to let him do anything else.

“You don’t want them to know you’re kind of brilliant,” Miller said.

“There’s really no ‘kind of’ about it,” Monty replied with a cocky smirk that made Miller shake his head, his lips firmly tugged upward on either side. “I’ll be working at Mecha during the dead shift so I run the least risk of being seen, and in the meantime, I can work on this.”

“Save our people, and then get ‘em drunk,” Miller nodded appreciatively. “They may just make you the next Chancellor for that.”

Monty pretended to consider it for a moment. “I could deal with that.”

“And when does sleep fit into these plans, Chancellor?”

“What’s that?” Monty replied jokingly before shrugging. “I don’t think I’d be getting much sleep on those cots anyway." He sighed nostalgically. "I was stupid and got used to bed frames and mattresses while we were kept against our will for our parts. Really wish we could have dragged those back down the mountain with us.”

Miller looked like he wanted to say something, like it was just at the tip of his tongue, but he held himself back. “So, what are we looking for?” he ask instead, avoiding Monty’s gaze to peer at the piles of crap.

Unsurprisingly, Miller’s “we” affected him just as much as it had the first time and it took him a second before he could lay out his plan without having to try to hide a too-wide smile.

* * *

Unfortunately, Monty’s prediction about sleep not being in his future proved true that night. He had left Miller with the long list of bits and pieces to search for in the big stack of bits and pieces and gone to get some rest before the dead shift started. He’d have roughly between the hours of 1am and 5am to get some work done, which meant he needed to get all the sleep he could before then. Sleeping from 6am onward would only arouse suspicions, probably of the “how are you coping” variety, which he didn’t care to deal with.

That didn’t mean sleep would come when he wanted it to though. The cot was just as uncomfortable as it had been the night before, the tent was just as cold, and his body just as achy. But more than that, the tent wasn’t overcrowded tonight. It was a large enough family tent, but a family on the Ark was three people, not the six they’d been yesterday. It should have been comfortable, but it just meant Monty had lost his buffers between himself and the people who wanted to care for him so badly that it was radiating out through every look and every gesture. And he wanted them to. He really did. He wanted to run to them and let them hug him, he wanted cry on their shoulders and let them reassure him like parents do. But just the thought of it felt like a betrayal of the worst kind. Like if he let himself act like their son, if he accepted the comfort they wanted to offer him, even for a second, he would somehow be sealing his parents’ fates. It was irrational to the extreme but it wasn't like he could rationalize himself out of a near panic attack whenever Jasper's parents got too close or looked like they wanted to talk. 

The easiest thing - the cowardly thing - would be to leave and set up his own tent elsewhere. But he couldn't manage that either. He couldn’t let them get too close, but he couldn’t snub them like that. They were good people, and he loved them. He was worrying them, he knew that, and he couldn’t help it. But he knew that leaving their tent could break something that might not be fixable when everything was alright again, and he didn’t want that. His parents wouldn’t want that. 

So instead of going on another walk, he forced himself to stay put on his shitty cot while his every emotion and every logical fallacy flew through his head, keeping him from sleep. He wouldn't wake them up and beg them to talk him through his waking nightmares, and he wouldn’t let himself get up and seek out that corner behind Alpha. He would stay in the Jordans’ tent, his hands curled into shaking fists, and silent tears of fear and helplessness slipping across his temples and into his pillow.  

That’s how it had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which ended up being about 3x longer than it had any right being. I'm pretty sure there are only 2 chapters left, and then the companion fic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what progress looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late; birthday celebrations run longer when you actually have people to celebrate them with apparently!
> 
> Also, it occurred to me as I was editing this chapter that I was kind of taking on a giant here. I mean, I wanted to write heaping tons of pain from which could come comfort but hey, no, that's cool, BLUFF CALLED, THE 100 WRITERS. YOU WIN. I HOPE YOU CRY YOURSELF TO SLEEP AT NIGHT. There better be a minimum of 15 solid minutes devoted solely to comfort in the finale, is all I'm saying.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I think only one more after this, I've just got to re-map it out with the companion fic's timeline.

It surprised him how much seeing Jasper the next day after his shift made him feel better. Jasper usually made Monty feel better when he felt like ass, but Jasper was currently recovering from a surgery Monty hadn't been a fan of. But when he went to visit him, Jasper was still coming off the high of the painkillers they’d given him post-op, smiling inanely and talking about how pretty Maya’s fingers were. It went a surprisingly long way to quieting the memories of Harper’s helpless whimpers in his mind.

He had planned to stay the better part of the morning but Jasper, the eternal lightweight, had passed out again not twenty minutes after Monty had shown up, and the medical staff had seemed pretty sure he’d stay that way for hours at least. Besides, while the distillery wasn’t up yet, he still had a lot to prepare for the mash solution that would eventually become alcohol; stealing pounds and pounds of sugar and cornmeal would not be easy in a tightly guarded camp. Still, he lingered a few minutes longer, and even stopped by the airlock to check on Maya and her dad before heading out.

Clarke and Bellamy were walking out of camp several meters away when he left Medical, and when they waved in greeting, he smiled and waved back and felt good about it. It felt like a step forward.

This entire day felt like it could be a step forward. And it only got better when he got to his and Miller’s spot and found a group of 5-6 extra people. He couldn’t even be annoyed that so many people now knew about the place when Miller was standing back and directing people on where to dig, where to be careful, and periodically consulting the list he had written up.

“Hey,” Miller called as he approached. It drew the attention of the delinquents in the rubble, who all yelled out a cheerful mix of greetings. When Monty looked confused, Miller grinned and said, “Apparently there’s some interest in getting the Unity Juice flowing again.”

Monty grinned back at him and surveyed the small group.

“We’ve already got a few things from this list," Miller reported, "though I’m starting to think this pile of crap is just a pile of crap. What we’ve got already came from these guys’ tent areas. And if it's not here, I don't know where we're going to get some of this other stuff, although Fox somehow managed to get her hands on the little airlocks you need for the barrels.”

“Ah, yes!” Monty exclaimed, his fists coming up for a half-fist-pump. The list was almost evenly split between the most mundane items that would never be missed, like plastic or glass jars or tubs, a way to generate heat to boil the mash, etc., and things they’d be lucky to ever be able to find, like the airlocks. “Speaking of difficult things, I snuck this out after my shift.” Monty said, revealing the soldering iron he’s kept hidden inside the length of his jacket’s sleeve. "I'll bring a battery from Mecha when it's time to use it."

“Nice,” Miller said, taking the iron and placing it with the small items set aside against the wall of Alpha.

“Now we need to deal with the mash.”

The irony was that if they’d been on the Ark, this would have been Monty’s wheelhouse. He was born and raised on Farm station, he knew every in and out and had smuggled out what he needed undetected for years before they caught him. But here...

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got Monroe and Harper on that. We should get the first shipment soon.”

Monty didn’t understand but sure enough, not an hour later, Monroe and Harper were back with three other delinquents carrying satchels over their shoulders.

“This enough for the first batch, bossman?” Monroe asked, flipping her satchel’s cover to reveal at least a pound of dried corn kernels.

“If you all got that much? Definitely. Won’t be huge, but it’ll be enough,” Monty said excitedly. “It just needs to be ground.”

“Give me a hammer and you’ll have it in an hour,” Harper said, her eyes alight with promises of violence.

“We really want more of a grinding motion, but I like your enthusiasm,” he said. She cocked her head to the side and shrugged to indicate she understood.

“I’ll be taking another group out for the sugar when the shifts change," Monroe continued, handing her satchel off to Harper to dump with the rest. "And I caught up with Octavia before she left - she’s going to get us some fresh water, so we don’t have to worry about taking that from camp."

Monty grinned and looked at their growing pile of supplies. “What a difference a day makes.”

“Just gotta find the right cause and people will trip over themselves to sign up,” Miller said with a lazy smirk.

Unfortunately, that morning marked the peak of their luck. Monroe had trouble getting any decent amount of sugar; cornmeal could believably be used in great quantities for bread, but they weren’t exactly in a position to be ending each meal with a dessert so justifying pounds of sugar wasn’t working, especially since the Ark had found small, wild corn fields they could start farming but there wasn’t exactly a repository of cane sugar around given that it had never grown in this half of the continent. Yeast was even more precious and no one in the group even knew where its stores were being kept.

They had also exhausted their options for materials pretty quickly after that first day. They had all the common things, they had Fox’s airlocks, and a few things Monty could take from Mecha and replace later, but they still needed a thermometer and copper tubing and he had no idea where they’d get them.

They went a few days without anything to add to their little pile and Monty was starting to think it was a sign to stop. The food stores _were_ small, and if they were hoping to bring in the inhabitants of the other stations, they’d have to be carefully rationed. And there was a reason the parts were hard to come by, they were literally living in a disaster area, camping out like the refugees they were. Just because it was a step-up for Monty and the rest compared to the early months, that didn’t mean the new inhabitants of Earth should go without for the sake of his promise to a friend.

Things weren’t getting better at his shifts in Mecha either. Monty went in every morning, staying longer and longer until he was in real danger of being spotted. He’d tried to set a quiet alarm but he would get so focused that he wouldn’t hear it. Raven and Wick had started coming in earlier, to relieve him in person, but they brought news he wasn’t happy to hear.

The first piece of news was that the long-range radio was finally working. Monty already knew that because he’d been the one to flip the switch the first time. Then, Chancellor Griffin and Kane showed up and he’d had to rush out the back way. He’d learned later that while the radio had been operational for hours, and they’d been transmitting every hour on the hour, there had been zero response. From anyone.

The second piece of news came a few days later from Monroe, who’d been told by Octavia that between the expected trajectories of the stations and the Grounder knowledge of the area, they’d been able to map out at least four probable locations for for their missing stations. Unfortunately, the Grounders’ knowledge amounted to “it’s too dangerous, we don’t go there”. They'd been in meetings with the Camp Jaha higher-ups for days trading intelligence and trying to find a way to get there safely, but the knowledge ate at Monty, and he was interchangeably anxious and relieved that he’d never gotten a look at that map; he didn’t know if he could sit around the camp knowing where his parents might be and not _try_. He just had to have faith in Clarke and Bellamy, and the others. They didn’t let anything stop them from rescuing the mountain prisoners, and they wouldn’t rest until they found their surviving people either.

But in the meantime, Jasper was still Medical, Monty was still attempting (and failing) to sleep in the Jordans’ tent, the work he was qualified to do in Mecha had all but dried up, and the still was going nowhere.

That’s how he found himself pacing outside the entrance of Clarke’s tent the next day while she held a meeting. He was sleep deprived, biting his lip raw, and trying to come up with a convincing argument for why she had to let him join in the council (or whatever they were calling it now) again. He’d wanted time for himself away from this side of things but it was fine, he was fine, he needed to be involved again. He needed to know what was happening, he needed to _do_ something or he was going to scream and run for the gates on his own.

Finally, the meeting ended and Commander Lexa and her Grounders left, barely deigning to glance at him, and he was about to rush in when Clarke followed them out. She looked surprised but happy to see him and Monty thought he could probably string together the words he needed to get in on this, but then she said, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to come find you. Miller told Bellamy you needed this.”

She pressed a long thermometer into his palm, which he quickly slipped up his jacket sleeve on reflex.

“Where-“

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, and if Clarke wasn’t worried, he wasn’t either.

“Thanks,” he said, dumbly, as if that's what he had come to see her for.

“Thank **you** ,” she said with a mischievous wink before jogging away to catch up with the Grounders.

At least it was something to add to the pile. 

* * *

He hadn’t visited their spot in a couple days, having had no reason to without more supplies, but when he got there he found it was very different from how he'd left it. A large tent had been erected, for one, and inside was what had once been a haphazard pile on the dirty ground but was now a work space that could rival the one he used in Mecha. Everything was laid out on three metal tables shoved together, and it looked like every piece had been meticulously cleaned. And from the far corner of the tent came the faint but distinctive smell of the fermentation process well under way; the girls had been able to get the sugar and yeast.

His hand curled tightly around the thermometer, though carefully. It wouldn’t do to break one of the most important pieces. Gently, he laid it on the table next to one of the funnels.

“Okay,” he said aloud. “Let’s get this party started.”

He cracked his fingers and reached for the metal lid that would be modified to fit a cork-protected thermometer.

* * *

He wasn’t disturbed until hours later, long after he’d prepared all he could prepare and sat himself down in one of the two chairs that had been set up in the corner and stared, eyes unfocused, gazing in the general direction of his half-built contraption. 

“Wow,” Miller said, after pausing upon seeing Monty in the tent. “That certainly looks like progress.”

“I have to go to the drop ship,” Monty murmured through the index fingers propped against his lips, eyes not moving.

“Forget your favourite socks?” Miller asked, his tone disbelieving.

“I need the copper tubes from the other still,” he replied.

“It’s not happening,” Miller protested.

“I need those copper tubs, Miller,” he insisted, a faint buzz of anger worming its way into his chest.

“We’ll get them somewhere else, Monty,” Miller said, stressing his name mockingly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’ve gotten every other impossible thing on your list. We’ll get this too, it’ll just take a little more time.”

“Time,” Monty scoffed. “We have less of that than anything else.”

“What?”

“We’re not going to find those tubes in Camp Jaha, Miller,” Monty said, springing up from his chair and throwing his arm out towards the camp. “Do you know how precious copper is? It’s in everything, but it’s vital to _everything_. Medical uses it for gas, Maintenance uses it for plumbing, Farm will be using it for refrigeration. You open up almost any necessary system and you’re going to find copper. We’re literally surrounded by it but you can’t just rip it out of the walls and expect people not to notice. Not to mention it’s _needed_. This other crap, people can get around it or we’ve got extras for months to come, but anything using copper is going to be important and we can’t just _steal_ it. We may be delinquents but we’re not…we’re not that.”

Miller looked stunned, but he didn’t argue.

“I have to go to the drop ship,” Monty repeatedly, far more calmly than he should have been after such an outburst. He picked up the satchel he’d packed hours early when he’d first realized what he’d have to do, but he didn’t make it to the tent flap before Miller’s body was in the way.

“You’re not going out there,” he insisted, his face gentle and understanding but unyielding, all in the perfect ratios to piss Monty off.

“Get out of my way,” he said, pressing his hands to Miller’s shoulders to move him without trying to shove him. Miller easily grabbed his wrists and dislodged his hold.

“We need that tubing!” Monty all but yelled, trying to tug his wrists out of Miller’s hands and feeling a familiar helplessness claw its way up his throat and threaten to choke him. “Don’t you get it? This still doesn’t work without that tubing. All of this was for _nothing_ without it. Everything you did is meaningless without it. We _need_ it!”

“The drop ship’s been declared off-limits, it’s not safe, and we don’t need booze more than we need you,” Miller said, his voice rising too.

Monty yanked harder and his wrists were finally released, though they were immediately sailing back towards Miller to properly shove him this time.

“Oh wow, off-limits? I am completely shocked,” he yelled sarcastically. “Is there _any_ area outside these gates that isn’t off-limits? For months we wandered blindly around these woods and got picked off by Grounders and acid fog and poisonous food and somehow _we_ _survived_ that but now suddenly we can’t step four feet out the gate without a 90% chance of death? My _ass_. They are _out there_ and stumbling like we were and they’re going to be picked off by whatever the hell they landed in and we’re just _sitting here_. I have to go!” He shoved hard against Miller again but his forearms were trapped this time, by gentler hands than before. Gentle enough that he grew confused and didn’t struggle out of the grip immediately.

“They?” Miller repeated pointedly. “I thought you were going for the drop ship.”

“I-“ Monty’s brain tripped when he replayed what he’d just said. “I was. I am. The tubing…”

Mortifyingly, Monty could feel his face crumpling, so with a shaky sigh, he let his head drop heavily to his chest. Neither said anything for a few moments, but Miller slowly released his forearms from between them to have the room to step closer. Close enough that Monty’s forehead was naturally resting on his shoulder, which was a blessing because he was really so _tired_. Monty could feel Miller’s fingers lightly over his back, barely pressing into his shirt as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed and Monty wanted to show him he was, but he was too comfortable to move.

“I didn’t want it to be for nothing,” Monty whispered into Miller’s shirt some time later.

“It won’t be,” Miller replied quietly.

“It will be,” he explained matter-of-factly. “I can’t substitute the copper for anything else, and there’s no usable copper outside of the drop ship still. If we can’t get to it, we’ve got nothing but broken promises and shattered expectations.”

Miller snorted unexpectedly, which jerked Monty’s head off its resting place. When Monty looked up to glare disgruntledly at him, Miller’s eyes were laughing and his lips were pursing as if he was keeping in laughter.

“Shut up,” Monty said, swatting his side ineffectively. “I’m obviously sleep-deprived.”

“Obviously,” Miller agreed with exaggeration.

Monty was about to rest his head on his shoulder again for no other reason than it felt good, but Miller took his arm and turned him towards the other end of the tent where some sleeping bags had been left.

“Get some sleep,” Miller ordered, letting Monty flop down onto one of the unrolled bags and unzipping another to act as a blanket. “Leave the copper to me.”

“You can’t go out there alone,” Monty said, sitting up to physically stop him from leaving.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Miller replied. “I’m not about to get eaten by a triple-headed lion or whatever the hell else is out there waiting for us.”

“Then where-“

“You’re sleeping,” Miller interrupted, pushing him back down onto the sleeping bag. “I’m worrying about the details.”

Satisfied that Miller at least wouldn’t be leaving on a suicide mission, Monty agreed, though it was mostly lost in a gigantic yawn. He thought for a moment that he should be getting up and going to the Jordans’ tent before he fell asleep. And then he thought for a moment that Miller’s shoulder would probably be even more comfortable lying down. But he was unconscious before he could act on either thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miller saves the day, more than once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess who's totally ignoring Blood Must Have Blood and all released spoilers about the finales! *points to self* This chick!
> 
> Anyhow, when I started writing this, the full fic was around 4.5k and it was all to get to the last scene of this chapter really. And somehow it grew to over 12k. I don't even know. But I hope you guys enjoy it!

He was cold, tired, and clinging to the peace of unconsciousness on a hard surface - an unfortunately familiar set of conditions that promised more pain to come - so when a hand gripped his shoulder, Monty panicked quite completely. 

He flailed, trying to simultaneously punch backwards with his right arm and kick back with his right leg, which meant that all he accomplished was the momentum to fall onto his back to face his attacker. He scrambled a full foot backwards, jerkily, slipping on something too smooth for purchase, before he realized that the wide brown eyes looking down at him belonged to a friend and not an enemy.

“What the fuck,” Monty exclaimed, panting.

“Same!” Miller replied, his eyes still startled wide. 

Monty worked to regulate his breath and looked around to distract himself from the fear lingering in his bones; he was in the still tent, the ground was hard and cold because he didn’t have a cot, just the worn sleeping bags. Miller was with him.

“I think I fell asleep,” he said, dumbly.

“You think?” Miller repeated, shaking his head.

“I think,” Monty replied, an unexpected laugh spilling out of him. It might have been infectious but Miller limited himself to a huff of breath and a relieved smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“What time is it?” Monty asked with a deep yawn, adrenaline fading quickly after the moment had passed.

“Early. Dead shift just ended.” 

Usually, he’d be sneaking back into his cot at the Jordans’ by now, but he couldn’t work up the will to get up and leave.

“What are you doing here?” He asked instead.

Miller grinned the same mischievous grin Wick and Raven had sported long days ago, and reached into the bag Monty hadn’t noticed until now. When his hand came back out, there were two slim lengths of copper tubing in it, and the loud clinking in the bag told Monty there would be a lot more at his disposal.

“Holy shit,” Monty marvelled, hands reaching out for them automatically. The pieces looked about a foot long each but then he realized they were specifically sized for the bag Miller was carrying them in. “Where did you get this?” 

Miller excited grin didn’t fade, though he did hesitate before saying, “My room.”

“What?”

Miller swallowed reflexively the way he did when they approached a topic he didn’t like discussing.

“Major Byrne…bit it, so my dad is Chief Guard again. He has quarters inside Alpha, close to the new Chancellor. So, I do too.”

The last part was spoken almost uncertainly, as though he wasn’t sure he was entitled to it.

“You pulled this from the _walls_?” Monty asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Miller grinned proudly. “The water pressure system was crushed when they landed, any parts that were left were broken up and sent to Medical or Mecha. Nobody’s going to miss the tubing for a bathroom that’s never gonna see running water again anyway.”

Monty shook his head in wonder, but smiled appreciatively. “You really are a great thief.”

“Just work your genius and make us some drinks, would you?”

“On it. I’ll save the first one for you,” he replied with a wink. 

The light blush peeking out over Miller's beard was enough to sustain Monty's cheer for a good long while.

* * *

Several hours,  Miller had left to wherever it was he went during the day, and Monty had sacrificed being able to feel his arms to solder together and bend the copper as he needed it. Luckily for him, Harper and Fox wandered in just past noon with food, fresh energy, and the extra gallons of water they’d need. Together, they finished rigging up the structure in quick time.

“Okay,” Monty said, surveying his work, and pointing to each third of the contraption in turn. “Mash pressure cooker will release the alcohol steam into the cool water bucket, and then into the second condenser bucket.”

“And that’s where the good stuff comes out?” Fox asked skeptically. 

“That’s where the good stuff comes out,” Monty affirmed. “You guys get the mash into the first container, I’ll get the water in the other two, and we can get the fire going!”

“It smells disgusting,” Harper said, angling her face away from the fermented mash.

“Yeah, that’s not going to improve,” Monty said, wincing when the fumes reached him. “But after a couple cups of the end result, you probably won’t be able to smell anything anyway!”

“Something to look forward to,” she drawled, with a pointed look in the direction of his body. He took offence to that. If he smelled of anything, it was the sleeping bags, and they were the ones who brought them in here. 

Soon, the fire was lit, the mash was boiling, and the steam was making its way through the still, and there was nothing left to do but wait. Well, wait and spread the word.

By the time the sun was setting that evening, they had their very first batch of moonshine ready for consumption and a good dozen delinquents ready to forget their troubles for the night. Miller, to Monty’s disappointment, only arrived after the first round, but when he did show, Monty pulled him into the emptied tent and towards the back where he’d hidden two mugs, covered with a cloth. With a flourish, he removed the covering and presented a cup to Miller.

“Told you I’d save you the first cup,” he explained, raising his own as an invitation to clink. Miller grinned and bumped their cups together before taking a long pull and promptly coughing up what sounded like at least part of a lung.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, with cough-prompted tears gathering on his lower lash, “that is so much worse than the Unity Juice.”

Monty, who had honestly saved the first two drinks for them but had meanwhile partaken of at least one or two others, giggled helplessly.

“Sorry,” he said without any sincerity.

“No, I love it,” Miller replied. He tried again, this time with a much smaller swallow, and managed to get it down with only a few light coughs and a failed attempt at nonchalance that was painfully adorable. It was then that Monty realized they were alone in the tent. There were a few handfuls of people just outside and they’d be barging in for refills any time now, but this one moment, in a quickly overheating corner of the tent…it was really nice. 

Surprisingly, the interruption came not from unwanted tent guests but from a commotion outside of hooting and clapping. Eyes wide, Monty and Miller raced out.

“Shut it down,” Miller said, with enough of Bellamy’s tone that most of the delinquents obeyed immediately. 

Miller winced and added, “We’re too close to camp, if they hear us, we’ll get busted.”

“Yeah,” came a familiar voice from behind the crowd. “Besides, the last time I got that kind of welcome, I’m told I became a total asshat.”

“Jasper!” Monty cried, running out through the parting crowd to hug the crap out of his best friend. “You’re already out?”

“Already? It’s been a week,” Jasper protested, despite the firm vice-like grip his arms created around Monty. “You suck by the way, visiting me while I’m unconscious does not in any way count as entertaining me on my sick bed. I don’t think I can forgive you for that.”

“Okay,” Monty conceded, his hands out in front of him as if presenting an offering, “but I did make you booze.”

“And that’s why you’re forgiven,” Jasper replied with a last, strong pat on the back. When Jasper stepped back, Monty also caught sight of another surprise.

“Maya!” he said, reaching for his second hug of the night. She was outside with them, no containment suit in sight. “It worked!”

“It did!” she said, beaming. “Fresh air smells _amazing_!”

“Right?” 

“At least it did before we got here,” she said, her nose wrinkling. 

“Don’t you worry,” Harper said, appearing out of nowhere and putting her arm over Maya’s shoulder. “Monty’s got a cure-all for that.”

“Yes!” Jasper clapped his hands and took off for the tent, with Harper and Maya following quickly behind him.

Monty still had his cup in his hand, and he could feel Miller at his shoulder; he didn’t feel the need to follow them. He was just content to see them there, healthy and happy. 

* * *

Indeterminable hours later, the party had grown to such proportions that Monty was very surprised they hadn’t been found out and shut down yet. 

Before the first round was even over, Wick and Raven had strong-armed their way into the tent to inspect his work and complete what they called a "quality control analysis" on his product. Wick had declared himself proud of his protege, and Raven had stolen his cup for herself (despite already having her own). Soon after the first round, Octavia, Lincoln and their Grounder crew had arrived (with plenty of their own stock to share). They were a rowdy bunch, to say the least, and they started leading the Sky People in drunken tests of strength or battle techniques (the Sky people were getting creamed, but they seemed to be having fun). After them had finally come Clarke, Bellamy, and Lexa, so there had naturally been some impromptu speeches and the party had become significantly more sombre and solemn, especially when they called for a toast to the people they’d lost. 

It was just as all eyes were on Clarke that Monty’s heart stopped dead in his chest: there, in the distance, was a member of the Guard, hovering just at the edge of the out-facing wall hiding them from the rest of the camp. The guardsman seemed to be alone, and surveilling them, but when his eyes landed on Monty’s worried face, his hardened expression softened into something gentler. And it was then that Monty was struck by the resemblance; that guardsman had to be Miller’s dad. They had the same eyes, whether they were glaring or kind. 

Miller’s dad had caught them boozing it up with illegal products within the camp walls. 

Miller’s dad - the _Chief of Guard_ \- was going to arrest him. 

Miller’s dad was…nodding firmly and walking away. 

A few moments later, Monty could see the outline of someone’s back and leg where Sergeant Miller had stood, but after long minutes of anxiously waiting and wondering if he should sound the proverbial alarm, he could see no more guardsmen amassing. It was just the one, left behind and facing in the wrong direction. Almost like a look-out. 

Miller’s dad was enabling their party, and the realization made Monty a little lightheaded. 

But he wasn’t one to question good things. (Except for that one time when the good things were definitely shady and ended with his tissues being harvested, but this was Miller’s _dad_ so he figured it was okay.)

As he turned his attention back to the gathering, he found Clarke wrapping up what must have been a downer of a speech because everyone’s faces were very downcast. But the party recovered, as they usually did when fuelled by young mischief and alcohol, so when he spotted Miller by their crate, waving him over, he decided to retire from his hosting duties and have his own fun. 

A part of Monty was sad that their spot in general had been so invaded, even though it had brought so much good to so many people. There would likely not be another place he and Miller could just randomly meet up and be alone. Or meet up less randomly. Whatever. For now, he’d have to be content with leaning heavily against him and serenely watching the revellers get less co-ordinated as time went on. Though when Harper passed by them with a raised brow though, he stuck out his tongue at her pointedly, making her snort so hard she choked on her breath and Maya had to pat her back hard to get her breathing right again. 

“What was that?” Miller asked, his shoulder jittering under Monty’s head as he chuckled.

“Nothing,” Monty dismissed. Harper could suck it. If Monty smelled of anything unpleasant, Miller certainly didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to be inviting him to get closer. Every time they shifted and resettled, Monty was sure the arm Miller had trapped between them was moving further backwards. Eventually it would be behind them and he’d have nowhere to put it except maybe around him and, hey, that would be…really okay.

“Thank you, by the way,” Monty said after long moments of peacefully staring out at nothing in particular. 

“Hm?” his cushion replied.

“Thank you for helping with all this. It wouldn’t have gotten done without you.”

Miller’s shoulder shrugged, gently though, like he was taking care not to dislodge Monty’s head.

“Your brain and skills, my ordering people around.”

Monty grinned slowly. He liked that. “Good teamwork.” 

He let his hand fall somewhat limply, palm-up on Miller’s leg. It was a very low-key high-five, though he couldn’t quite pull his eyes from Miller’s hand when it covered his, or stop the shiver Miller undoubtedly felt when he slid his hand across his skin as he pulled away.

“It did boost morale,” Miller noted, his voice softer, quieter, than before.

Monty shifted his gaze back to the party again and smiled. “That it did.”

Unbidden, Monty’s thoughts turned to Sergeant Miller, who had all but given the delinquents his blessing. He wanted to mention it, but he knew Miller’s dad was a sore spot.

“Is it still weird?” he asked instead, like he had that first night.

“Everything is weird,” Miller replied wisely, taking another long drink of his now near-empty cup.

Monty nodded, and thought the conversation might end there but Miller continued.

“It’s weird being in the same room as my dad again,” he offered slowly, as though he was mulling it over. “It’s weird not having to worry about our safety because we’ve got fences and guns and trained guardsmen, but worrying about it anyway because we can’t relearn how not to. It’s weird to have nightmares about a hull breach sucking out all the oxygen and waking up to a world where it’s limitless, but that was weird when we first landed. It’s not new.” And then, “It’s weird to be grateful to the people who sent you to die for rescuing you way too late.”

Monty could feel the familiar thick weight he’d been trying to ignore for days growing in his throat, so he tried to wash it down with alcohol. It helped a little, he thought. 

“It’s weird staying with the Jordans,” Monty finally admitted out loud. “It’s like being a kid again except feeling like a kid is the worst thing ever down here. You get all the helplessness and none of the innocence.” Distantly, Monty noted that Miller’s arm had found its place, curled loosely around his lower back, and he took that as permission to burrow more closely into his side. “And it’s weird living in a tent again, period. Inescapable walls is all we ever knew, and then shitty tents that barely protected us from the elements for a few months, and then under the mountain for a few more. And…more than the clothes and food and the people, the walls of Mount Weather were what made me feel like we could be safe there. They’re what made me feel like if I could just get you all in there and shut the doors behind us, we’d be okay again, finally. And I wouldn’t trade this real air and sky and grass for anything, but…I don’t know.” He let his head fall forward. “I don’t know.”

They were quiet again then, but the hand at his back curled spasmodically around his side.

“I have walls,” Miller offered hesitantly. “I don’t like them, but I’ve got four of them and a busted door that doesn’t lock anymore. If…” Miller sucked in his lips self-consciously. “If…you need walls, I have some.”

And maybe it was the alcohol that made Monty’s vision slightly blurry, and his voice a little wet-sounding when he managed to say, “Thanks.” But it probably wasn’t.

Miller nodded, resolute, and it almost made Monty laugh because it was nearly the same expression he’d seen on his father just hours earlier. But then Miller snuck a much shyer glance his way and Monty was helpless against the need to hug him. It was awkward and sideways since they were sitting next to each other, but it was warm and solid and neither of them was complaining.

The next thing Monty was aware of was someone shaking his foot, startling him awake.

“Hey,” Wick called so quietly that Monty realized the party had all but ended. “Buddy, you with me?”

“I’m up,” he said groggily.  He didn’t bother attempting to move though, he was so comfortable.

“I’m thinking you’re gonna need to drag Jasper back to your guys’ tent tonight,” Wick said with a disgustingly near-sober smirk. Sure enough, after blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Monty could spot Jasper on his back on the ground, mouth open wide and snoring. At least Maya was in a similar state, sitting slumped over against a barrel next to Jasper’s head. Complete lightweights.

Monty nodded. He’d take care of his friend, as always. 

But when he tried to sit up, he realized he was comfortable because he had fallen asleep in a loose version of the hug he’d been enjoying with Miller.

Wick sighed loudly, but good-naturedly. “Or I could get him back to **his** tent and you can get back to all of that,” he offered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Don’t be an ass,” Raven admonished Wick after appearing out of nowhere, and punching him in the arm for good measure.

“I can’t help it. Being the responsible one brings out the worst in me.”

“Being _yourself_ brings out the worst in you.”

“Thanks, Raven,” Monty interjected. 

She gave Monty a begrudgingly approving kind of nod, and dragged Wick away to take care of his friends.

Monty waited until Wick was literally dragging Jasper away before he tapped his fingers lightly on the outside of Miller’s thigh where they’d been resting.

“Hey,” he murmured, “you faking?”

“Yep,” Miller replied immediately.

“They’re gone,” Monty said.

“And you’re not,” Miller pointed out.

“Nope,” Miller said. “Still here.”

“Alright then.”

Miller sat up slowly, letting their bodies separate without throwing Monty’s balance off. Then he jumped the few inches off the crate and held out his hand, and Monty couldn’t remember ever feeling this soul-filling brightness. It was a sweet and tickling feeling that spread to all of his limbs and made him feel light enough to float, and he thought maybe taking Miller’s hand would be the only thing that could ground him again, so he did exactly that. 

It didn’t help with the tingling at all, but he wasn’t about to let go either.

* * *

The journey to Miller’s quarters was difficult; they had to make their way around Alpha’s immense hull and then into its maze of corridors, and they were still generously tipsy and trying not to show it. Fortunately, it was the dead shift, and they were lucky enough to only encounter two people who didn’t seem to care about them whatsoever.

Silently tiptoeing across Miller’s dark living room was difficult; they had to pass his dad’s closed bedroom door and Monty wanted to tug on Miller’s hand, stop him, and tell him what his dad had done for them. But he was too scared of impeding what was coming, so he didn’t say anything.

Getting into bed was difficult, logistically; it was not a bed designed to accommodate two mostly-grown men. And mellow though the moonshine had made them - which helped stave off the worst of the shyness and embarrassment - it also made them pretty uncoordinated. Fortunately, Miller was comfortable taking charge, and he led by example when he dropped only his pants and then got into the bed on his side, scooting over to the very edge against the wall. For a moment, Monty felt incredibly on-the-spot. It was his turn now, and his heart was beating deafeningly loud in his ears, but then Miller bit his lower lip lightly and everything suddenly felt so much easier.

It was easy to let his own pants drop and step out of them because Miller’s eyes were locked on his and weren’t moving.

It was easy to step onto the mattress because Miller’s hand was holding the blanket up over the space he’d made for him.

It was easy to turn around and settle in, because Miller had let the blanket fall, and his arm had followed across Monty’s waist; timidly, at first, then securely.

And everything was still messed up; Miller would probably still have nightmares tonight, and Monty’s parents would still be missing in the morning.

But this? This was right, and comfortable, and good. 

This was easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, this will become part 1 of a series, with the next part focusing on Miller and his dad (but still with Minty presence). The next fic is already written and is ~3.5k long...but I haven't edited it yet so who knows how long it will become in the end.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Easy! And hopefully the title didn't sound as accidentally suggestive to you as it did to me after I posted it. But it was kind of important to the theme, as you can now see, so I didn't want to change it. ;)


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